


The Only Things I Lose...

by izloveshorses



Category: Anastasia - Flaherty/Ahrens/McNally
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Miscommunication, Mutual Pining, My brain decided to add an OC, Unplanned Pregnancy, i'm embarrassed for them
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-21
Updated: 2019-05-06
Packaged: 2019-05-09 23:16:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14725472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/izloveshorses/pseuds/izloveshorses
Summary: Anya made a jaw-dropping discovery while in Paris.Or, the Unplanned Pregnancy Fic nobody asked for.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Based off this very vivid dream I had recently! My subconscious is such a sap, it basically wrote the whole thing for me. I haven’t seen the show so I guess this is my brain’s weird way of filling in the gaps between the soundtrack. Please don’t correct me if I’m wrong!
> 
> Also, I alternated the timeline a bit, but it’s still pretty much the same story with a couple events shuffled around. 
> 
> Playlist link if you feel like listening: https://open.spotify.com/user/izloveshorses/playlist/5wrqpb3fkAlP9CGilYGyXR?si=hxIoVZEVRZ-50xPDchxrUw

Anya stared in horror at the visiting doctor. 

“The tests... were positive?” She asked again. 

“I’m afraid so,” he replied, packing up his medical kit. “These new tests are terribly accurate. You’re just a few weeks along.”

The world spun. Anya told her Grandmother that she’d been feeling a little nauseous, but when they’d hired a doctor to check out her symptoms she never expected _this_.

“Are you absolutely sure?” Her Grandmother’s frail voice broke the trembling silence. The years of hardships etched onto her face, again burdened with another impossible challenge. 

The doctor shrugged. “Like I said, the pregnancy tests don’t lie.” He continued to explain her condition and the importance of scheduling regular visits, but Anya didn’t hear any of it. 

_The pregnancy tests don’t lie. The pregnancy tests don’t lie. The pregnancy tests don’t lie..._

He finished packing up and left her bedroom, the Dowager following behind. Anya couldn’t seem to make herself move. She heard her grandmother thank the doctor and tell him, “Never speak of this to _anyone_.”

Their suite’s door squeaked open and clicked shut, echoing in the deafening silence that followed. 

Her Grandmother trudged back into her bedroom and tiredly sat in the silk chair by the window. “Who’s the father?”

“Dmitry.” She swallowed. 

“The man who brought you here? For money?”

She nodded. It happened after they learned to waltz together, back on the cargo ship they hitchhiked on. She didn’t really have an excuse. They were both so lonely for so long, both decently attractive, both looking for something the other might be able to offer, that it was inevitable. Yeah, they hated each other at first, but perilous journeys tended to bring people closer together anyway. Afterwards, they agreed it wouldn’t amount to anything. Besides, what were they thinking? They knew that once they got to Paris they’d go their separate ways, so there was no way something more would follow. 

The thought somehow made Anya even sadder. 

After what seemed like a year, her Nanna mumbled, “An illegitimate child. In _this_ family!”

Anya’s head snapped up in shock. Never would she have expected her grandmother to react so harshly. 

“You’ll have to marry. Soon, so that no one gets suspicious. Perhaps to Luka?”

Luka had been Anya’s private tutor before the revolution. He apparently survived and was living with the other ex-aristocrats in the city. She had a crush on him back in those days— to her defense, what preteen didn’t have a crush on their teacher at some point?— but that was a long time ago. Still, it was nice to see him again and have a friendly, silly conversation with. She’d been catching up with him lately and he was helping her recover some of her happier memories— ones the nightmares never touched. 

But the thought of marrying made her stomach flip. 

“Or you could continue living under the radar until the child is born. Perhaps the conman could raise it...”

With each suggestion, Anya fell deeper into despair.

She thought of the women she’d seen back on the streets in St. Petersburg, wailing in hopelessness, now having to fend for two. Finding food for _one_ was hard enough as it was. She supposed she should be thankful she didn’t have to raise a starving child, since living in a palace would ensure they’d never go hungry or die of frostbite. But the only thing she felt was fear. Fear of being trapped. She was trapped in poverty, trapped in communist Russia, now she’d gotten herself trapped in her own home. 

“Oh, what are we going to do?” Her grandmother cried. 

Anya didn’t know how to answer. 

***

A week passed. Nobody knew Anya’s secret except for the Dowager, who still wasn’t happy about it. Vlad kept insisting she joined him and Dmitry on more shopping trips and extravagant Parisian parties before they officially went their separate ways. Anya agreed, since she couldn’t stand being cooped up any longer and didn’t want him to get suspicious. The last thing she needed was another person fretting over her. 

Tonight they were seeing the Russian Ballet perform Swan Lake. As Anya was getting pampered and styled, she couldn’t swallow the nerves that built up inside her. 

She was going to be a mother. Doubt crept into her mind; was she capable of raising a child? Raising a child of the _royal family?_ She knew she and her son or daughter would always be taken care of. 

But... what if the same thing that happened to her parents happens to her? Would someone murder her for being a Romanov, leaving her child as an orphan in the streets with no memories, just like she was?

Would she be willing to risk that?

Anya shook her head. She needed to worry about that later. For now, she had to focus on another problem: telling Dmitry. 

She walked into the lobby, wearing the most dazzling dress she’d ever seen, sparkling blue. Dmitry was hunched over tying his shiny new shoes— how Vlad had managed to get him in a full tux, Anya never figured out— and glanced up in her direction. He continued tying his left shoe but his head whipped up again, his eyes widened and slowly trailed up to meet hers. 

His jaw dropped in awe. 

Before she got the news of her dilemma, they’d both agreed to just be friends, since they’d live in entirely different worlds after all this was over. But seeing him look at her like _that_ with those brown eyes... 

She pretended like she didn’t notice. Like her heart wasn’t leaping out of her chest. 

He rose, slowly, blinking out of his daze, then offered her his arm. “Shall we?”

She wrapped her hands around his bicep, standing a little closer than she cared to admit, and couldn’t hide her grin. She had to crane her neck to look up at him. They’d obviously kissed before, and he’d almost kissed her again when she remembered he’d bowed to her so many years ago, but something had stopped him. Now, standing so close together, despite their agreement and her little (big) problem, she really, _really_ wanted to kiss him again. 

But the inevitable nagged at the back of her mind. _Tell him,_ it whispered. _Tell him what you got yourself into._

Then Vlad and Lily appeared and showered them with celebratory hugs. Luka was there, too, kind as always, in his usual cleaned-up suit and slick hair. He kissed her hand and told her this reminded him of a night they’d snuck into one of her father’s parties and danced for hours without anyone noticing, and how much trouble they’d gotten into after finally getting caught. The memory revealed itself at last, a crystal clear image of her father scolding her for hours, Luka hiding his laughs in the corner, despite his status as the official tutor of the royal family. Anya laughed with him, only because it took her mind off of her other problems.

Dmitry stiffened at her side. Now wasn’t the best time to admit her news. 

After the first act, Anya would tell him, she decided. And risk losing him forever. 

***

The ballet was finally at intermission. After the wind was knocked out of Dmitry’s lungs by the sheer sight of Anya— the _Grand Duchess Anastasia_ — in that blue gown, shining like an evening star, he noticed how pale her face was. How her hands kept twitching. How she kept glancing in his direction, trying to say something but stopping herself each time. 

She was wringing her glove to death when he silently wrapped her fingers in his. Almost immediately, she relaxed, taking a deep breath, shoulders dropping. He whispered, “What’s wrong?”

She didn’t answer. But she did squeeze his hand a little tighter, and he stroked the back of her hand with his thumb. 

It wasn’t supposed to feel so _right_. Their hands weren’t supposed to fit together so perfectly. 

He’d held onto her practically then entire ballet so far. He had no idea what was bugging her so much, but whatever it was, he wanted to do anything in his power to put an end to it. 

As soon as the first act was over their hands broke apart. The group went down to the main lobby, and he stepped away to get drinks for everyone. When he came back, he saw Anya and Luka, smiling at each other, standing just close enough together to make his stomach churn. 

Why was he feeling this way? Yeah, they may have had something going that night on the boat, but that was back when they thought this whole trip was a one-in-a-million shot in the dark. Neither of them realized how much bigger their situation was. How she was _actually_ the princess. Once they realized who she really was, Dmitry had promised himself he would never act on his feelings. There was no way a criminal and a princess could be together anyway. Besides, since they ran into the Dowager, she’d started spending an awful lot of time with Luka lately. Dmitry was fine with it— he didn’t have a choice in the matter. She found her home and old life again, and was fitting right in, and he knew this guy was the only one who could possibly deserve her. 

Telling that to himself over and over again wasn’t getting any easier. 

“Hey, can I talk to you?” Anya’s voice pulled him out of his thoughts. He looked down and she flashed a nervous smile at him, and he gestured towards the balcony doors. 

Immediately after he passed the glasses of champagne to Vlad she grabbed his hand, clutching tight, but despite what he promised himself he couldn’t find the strength to pull away from her grasp. 

He shut the doors behind them. The crisp cool air of the evening replaced the stale, stuffy atmosphere of the theatre, and he finally felt like his collar wasn’t choking him to death anymore. Until he saw her face. 

“Dmitry, I’m...” she studied their still-interwoven hands. “I’m pregnant.”

He blinked. Then stumbled back into the railing. Still gripping her hand. 

“You’re...”

“Yeah.” She continued in a rush, “I just found out last week, a doctor came and took some tests, and they were positive, he and my Nanna said I’d be taken care of, but I don’t know what to do—“

“Hey, it’s okay, you’ll be alright. You’ve faced tougher challenges, right?” Unable to pull his gaze away, he lost a little bit of self control and brushed a loose hair out of her face, coaxing a small, sad smile out of her. A breeze made the train of her dress shimmer and flutter behind them just to torture him. The clear sky above started revealing its stars, trying to imitate this glittering girl— But not succeeding. He was _helpless._ “How are you feeling?”

“At first I was a little nauseous, but who wouldn’t be? I’m—“ she glanced down at her stomach, as if realizing for the first time, “I’ve got a person the size of a peanut inside me!”

He laughed and leaned his elbows on the railing, both of them staring out at the twinkling streets of Paris. “You’re... going to make a remarkable mother.”

He heard her swallow. “I guess I haven’t thought about that part yet.” She hesitated again, taking a deep breath, finger tapping on the rail. “Do you really think so? I don’t have the first clue how to raise a kid.”

He raised his eyebrows and bumped her with his shoulder. “Something In you knows it.”

A comfortable silence fell between them, the only noise coming from the muffled laughter of the people inside, glasses clanking, the cars rumbling far below.

The thought of her humming to her precious, fragile infant, cradling it as close as humanly possible, sunlight filtering in softly through the windows, with her _new_ family, finally at peace, made him smile. But that thought grew stained with the image of her smiling sweetly to someone that wasn't him. 

_It wasn't him._

When they’d first reunited with the Dowager and other Russian aristocrats, Anya had told Dmitry how close she and Luka used to be, and the Dowager even described them as _inseparable._ He knew in the weeks that followed they had daily discussions of her past life every morning, trying to regain her memories of every detail of her childhood— something she rightfully deserved. But... what _else_ had they been doing?

He killed that unthinkable image before it could make him hurl over the railing. 

Anya was moving on faster than he expected, while he was left standing still. In the span of just a few weeks at the most she found her family again, her memories, her unimaginable riches, and her title. What did he find? A couple of extra bucks and a new apartment? 

And a broken heart.

Unable to keep the bite out of his tone, he asked, “Have you told Luka?”

He looked down at her, her features sharp and contorted in... hurt? Confusion? The way her lips pursed and eyebrows furrowed made him regret the question immediately. The magical moment was ruined. 

Before she could respond, the doors busted open with a joyous “Intermission’s over!!” Vlad. “Come on, I want to see what happens to the Swan lady!”

Not for the first time, he yanked Anya away and twirled her through the arched glass doors, both giggling as if Dmitry’s world hadn’t just been ripped from underneath his feet. 

He plastered on a smile, then followed his two best friends. 

***

It was hard to pretend to keep watching the performance. Critics said Swan Lake was one of the most spectacular sights one could behold, but Dmitry just couldn’t look away from her. 

The lights from the stage occasionally beamed across Anya’s dress, making her twinkle like the shimmering Parisian streets after sunset. The same ones they were staring at merely moments before. 

She didn’t seem to be paying attention to the stage at all. She was twiddling with her gloves again, but this time he maintained what little self control he had left by keeping his (shaking) hands in tight fists on his lap, telling himself to keep his nerve and see this through. 

It was a lot to wrap his head around. Anya, pregnant. Who would help raise the child?

He assumed Luka would. The guy didn’t seem like the kind who’d run away when he suddenly became responsible for another human being. He’d stayed with the royal family this long, hadn’t he? 

But if he _did_ leave her...

Well, Dmitry wanted to be there when she needed him. 

He’d never liked the rich, especially when there were so many people dying from starvation or cold, which was never a problem to the upper class. But Anya was different. She knew what it was like to sleep on the streets. She would use her status to help prevent poverty from hurting more innocent people, and more importantly, teaching her child what those hardships were like. He was willing to set aside his principles if it meant being with her. 

If she asked him to stay, to help raise her son or daughter, to keep her company, to even be her _bodyguard_ for all he cared, he’d give up his newfound freedom in a heartbeat. 

He’d do anything she asked of him, he realized. 

The applause shattered his thoughts. He looked over at Anya who seemed to be reeling in from her own mind as well, and they both stood up with the crowd and exited back into the lobby. 

He waited for her to say something, anything, about wanting him to stay. But as the conversation and sickening smiles between her and Luka about “that one time she lost her horseback riding privileges for writing profanities about some Duke in a homework assignment” dragged _on and on_ his collar slowly tightened around his neck like a noose and he just couldn’t take it any longer. He finally tugged gently on her elbow and ticked his head, gesturing to step away for a second. 

“What’s wrong?” She asked. 

“Is this really what you want?” He asked quickly over the noisy chatter of the audience in the crowded lobby. Someone rushing towards the door bumped into his shoulder, making it feel an awful lot like a certain parade he went to as a kid, the first time he ever bowed to anyone...

The same girl was standing before him, now blossomed into an extraordinary woman. She stared at him hard for a long moment. “Yes...” she said, finally, “yes, I’m sure.”

His jaw twitched. Dmitry didn’t know what he expected. More, he guessed. Better. “That’s my cue to leave, then.”

“What?”

“You’ve made it clear you don’t need me.”

“I never said that! I just told you this is what I want—“

“I thought you were different!” His voice rose a little louder than he meant. Heads turned in their direction, but he didn’t care, he’d been holding this in for weeks now and it was too late to close the floodgates. “After all we’ve been through, you dropped this _bomb_ on me with no warning—“

“Whoa, hold on. This ‘bomb’ is your problem too, and I trusted you enough to tell you! I needed to get it off my chest and you’re the one I chose to talk to!”

“Anya— excuse me, _your Highness_ — you don’t need me! You’ve got a whole palace full of staff to talk to! You literally just told me you’ve moved on from whatever we had—“

“That’s not what I said!”

“Well maybe you should be chatting with Luke and the other rich people over there!”

“Luk _a_. You know what? Fine! You’re too impossible to talk to anyway!”

“Fine by me!” They we’re practically nose-to-nose now. 

“Maybe you should just take your money and go, that’s all you came for, right?”

“Maybe I will.”

“Fine!”

“Excellent!”

“ _Fantastic!_ ”

He barreled out of the building so fast that he swore people leapt out of his way. 

Dmitry ripped his bow tie off his neck, still suffocating. As he walked down the avenue, the red in his vision fading, the realization of what he just lost hit him like a brick wall. 

The sliver of a relationship they _might have_ had was shredded now. Thanks to his inability to shut his stupid mouth. 

He should’ve been glad. He finally broke free! No more standing in line for a measly ration of bread or lying his way through every problem. Or constantly bickering with some street sweeper who turned out to be a princess...

_But nothing is what it was_ , he thought. 

His anger towards what Anya did to him faded away, yet his feelings for her couldn’t seem to leave. 

He kept mumbling to himself that this didn’t change anything. In the end, he was still the skinny boy on the streets and she was still the girl in the parade, passing by, unreachable. The lines were drawn tonight and nothing could reverse that at this point. 

Dmitry would have never been able to give her what she deserved, anyway. He couldn’t buy her a palace full of priceless jewels or gourmet meals or tickets to the ballet every night. Or tell her all the intimate stories of her childhood in full detail. More pressingly, he wouldn’t even know where to start with _raising_ royalty. The only thing he could offer was his unshakable faith and love for her.

But what would the sole heiress of the Russian throne want with the heart of a street rat?

***

"You're saying you _don't_ want the money?"

Dmitry shook his head and smiled sadly. Nothing this reward could give him would ever fill the cavity left from her.

"Why the change in mind?"

"It was more a change of... heart."

He moved towards the exit after the Dowager dismissed him, but stopped when she said, "Wait," He looked back at her, while she was staring up at him with her eyes narrowed. “Aren’t you going to tell Anastasia goodbye?”

He clenched his jaw, staring at the elaborately decorated wooden table, something probably worth more alone than his entire wardrobe combined. “Isn’t she at Luka’s again?”

Her silence gave him his answer. 

Before he could stop himself, he said, “I guess this is my goodbye. And my apology... for everything.” 

She nodded, then spoke again. "Where will you go? Not back to Russia, certainly."

"I've got enough cash for a train ticket. I'll find out where I'll end up once I get to the station tonight."

"You're not thinking about going _back_ to that old city, are you?"

He shrugged. "Once a street rat, always a street rat." He scuffed his scrappy shoe on the plush rug, once again feeling out of place. "Maybe Petersburg, maybe London, wherever there's a gutter for me to live in. It's time to move on, Paris hasn't exactly treated me nicely."

_Funny how a city tells you when it’s time to go._

She took that in. "You know of Anastasia's secret, correct?"

He nodded, startled by the sudden interogation.

"Then why leave, when she's going to need you the most?"

Dmitry shook his head too quickly. "She doesn't need me."

"How do you know she doesn't _want_ you?"

"Because..." Dmitry hesitated. "She didn't ask me to stay."

***

Watching Dmitry storm out of the theatre the other night was one of the hardest things Anya ever had to do.

Until she had to force herself to plaster on a graceful smile and pretend her world wasn't just crushed.

With the blinding light of the priceless chandeliers in her eyes, he was gone. Before she even realized what had just happened. She barely noticed the gossiping eyes on her or the scandaled whispers in between sips of champagne she wouldn’t get to taste for nine months. She barely noticed the way her friends danced cautiously around the topic for the rest of the night. Or how silent the car ride home was. Basically, she’d spent the next hour studying the elaborately designed floors of the lobby and how her dress seemed to have dimmed, not as breathtaking as before. 

She tried distracting herself for the next few nights by spending nearly all of her spare time with Luka. They talked about her sisters, her study habits, how often she got into trouble, _anything_ that took her mind off that night at the ballet and Dmitry and her pregnancy.

But it didn’t work. The image of his fuming brown eyes and the hurt beneath them haunted her dreams. 

Why was he so angry? She expected him to be surprised that they were going to be parents, but not... Furious. She thought he would help her at least figure out a plan before leaving, or just not leave at all, especially after telling him _yes this is exactly what I want,_ you _are exactly what I want._ Perhaps she didn't know him as well as she thought she did. She hadn't expected him to say such awful things to her, but here they were.

He was right, though, she _did_ have a whole plethera of supporters. She would never experience the financial struggle that came with buying food and shelter. All of that would be taken care of by her inheritance. Her grandmother would always be there to help, too, once she began to look at the bright side again. 

But was that the life she wanted?

Her thoughts swirled like a brewing snowstorm, circling back and forth through her mind. It was almost impossible to focus on the task at hand.

Her grandmother had this press conference planned a few days after the ballet to announce the return of the lost princess Anastasia. Vlad and Lily were trying to calm the anxious reporters down in the main hall, while Anya was preparing to present herself as the sole survivor of the Romanov family massacre. The Dowager would introduce her and Anya was supposed to follow behind, give answers to the reporters' questions that they’d publish to the world, and officially claim her right to the royal family line. No pressure. 

But she had absolutely no idea how she would manage to pull all that off in such an emotional state. Hormones definitely didn't help anything.

She took a deep breath, wiping her sweaty palms on her silky bejeweled dress before slipping her white gloves on. _I can do this._

Her thoughts were so loud she couldn't hear the stomping footsteps enter the room. 

A massive figure stood in her doorway, lumbering closer.

"Gleb?" What was he doing here all the way outside of Russia? Shouldn't he be enforcing the "New Order" back at home?

"Paris," he spat, "is no place for a good and loyal Russian."

She swallowed. _He knew. The son of the man who helped murder her family knew who she really was._ "We are _both_ good and loyal Russians." 

"I've come to take you home." He almost growled.

"My home is here now."

"Stop playing this game, Anya!"

Her fists clenched. "We both know it's not a game, Gleb."

He stared at her, nostrils flaring. "If you really are Anastasia," he started, stepping closer, no longer avoiding the elephant in the room, "do you think history wants you to have lived?"

This was getting out of hand. " _Yes._ Why don't you?" While she'd always been a little creeped out by the guy, she never thought he'd threaten her like this.

"The Romanovs were given everything, and gave back nothing! Until the Russian people rose up and destroyed them." He said her family name like a curse.

Anya's spine straightened. "All but one." Gleb's eyes widened. She just blatantly admitted her identity to someone with a job to finish, proudly and strongly. But then she remembered what she was sacrificing.

Fear was all she felt. Not for herself, but for the child she might never meet.

The thought struck a chord in her. Anya the streetsweeper, Anastasia the princess, whatever she was, wasn't giving up her chance to be Anya the mother without a fight. A wiser girl may have played along, but she was done running. Done hiding. Now was the time to face her past. 

She tried to slip past him but he grabbed her arm, gripping hard. 

"Finish it," she dared. "I am my father's daughter."

" _And I am my father's SON!_ " Up close, with his normally crisp appearance now tattered, eyes wild, he looked insane. She yanked her arm free of his grasp, but he was blocking the doorway so she had no choice but to back up and stand her ground. He pulled a pistol from his pocket. _Click._ "Finish it I must."

He aimed it directly at her face. She stared down the barrel, gaze unwavering, unshakable, her head held high. She did the only thing she knew how to do: fight.

"In me you see them— look at their faces in mine, hear their screams, imagine their terror, _see their blood!_ " She knew he felt their presence too. That the ghosts of her past had been haunting him almost as much as they'd been haunting her.

But Gleb still held the weapon steady, so she made one last attempt at saving herself. She told the truth.

"Would you kill an unborn child, too?"

His hand holding the gun faltered a bit.

"Would that make your father proud? Would murdering an innocent soul who hasn't even seen the light of day finish your 'proud and vital task'? Do it, and I will be with my parents and my brother and sisters in that cellar in Yekaterinburg _all over again!_ "

His gaze shifted from her face down towards her stomach, no doubt deciding who he wanted to become in that moment: his father, or himself.

"We have a past to bury, Anya!" He yelled, face tightening around his nose and finger tightening around the trigger. _Goodbye, Dmitry._ She wished him all the happiness in the world. Wherever he was. 

Maybe, after she died, her family would be proud of the way she faced Gleb, and of the life she'd lived. Maybe she'd get to meet the child who would never have the chance to experience life.

She prepared herself for the end. But finally, he winced, scraped the sweat off his brow, and cried out in frustration. The gun clattered to the floor.

Anya loosed a breath she had no idea she'd been holding.

Gleb crumpled down and wept. His hands shuttering, he whispered, "I... I can't. I can't be my father's son anymore."

Stupidly brave as always, Anya crouched down next to him, patting his trembling shoulder. "I know the feeling." She suddenly knew exactly what she had to do.

Then she bolted towards the doorway before he got the chance to change his mind.

***

Her footsteps echoed throughout the hallway where she finally ran into the Dowager. 

“Anastasia, what— are you alright?”

“I’m fine—“ she panted. The adrenaline of almost dying finally ebbed away, leaving her hands shaking, heart thundering. _Meet the royal mess_ , She thought. “I have to tell you something. Gleb—“

“Who? Did someone try to hurt you?!”

“Yes— no— it doesn’t matter now.” She inhaled shakily. “I’m fine. He showed me what I really wanted this whole time...” The storm in Anya’s mind finally passed, at last leaving her with mental clarity. “I’m sorry but... I spent my whole life searching for my past, for my family. I found you and that was more than I ever dreamed! But a life full of press interviews, dozens of people waiting on me hand and foot, living in ginormous palaces? It’s just not for me. And for my child—“ she looked down at her stomach, and it dawned on her that it was the first time she felt truly _happy_ about motherhood. 

Her grandmother took her hand gently. “I understand, my dear. You want to run away with the con— with Dmitry.”

Startled by how blunt her grandmother was, Anya admitted, “I’m going to talk to him again and see if we can work something out. If he rejects me, I’ll be... okay.” She placed a hand on her stomach and smiled. “I won’t be alone anymore.” Then she noticed the Dowager’s expression. “You don’t approve?”

Her Nanna smiled. “A few weeks ago I would have _never_ approved. You understand why, I assume.” Anya did. She’d be pretty cold towards the man who knocked up her granddaughter, too. “But, seeing how much you care for him, I’d like to apologize for my initial reaction to the situation. I didn’t always have the best attitude and that certainly didn’t help what you were going through.”

Anya gripped her in a tight, forgiving embrace. “You once told me that wherever you'll go, I'll always be with you." 

"And that will always, _always_ be true."

She kissed her Nanna on the cheek. The smell of orange blossom filled her nose, and her memories. 

“Now hurry,” Nanna whispered, “before he gets on his train.”

Anya pulled back to look at her face. “What do you mean? I thought he was just at his apartment.” He wouldn’t leave _that_ soon, would he?

“He seemed to have a different idea when he spoke with me about the reward money this morning.”

Ice filled her stomach. “So he’s just going to blow all that money as fast as he can? That’s ridiculous!” She tried to sound indifferent, but that was pretty difficult with how much the thought hurt her. 

“Anastasia, he didn’t take the money.”

Her head snapped back up. “What?”

“He didn’t accept the reward.” She could tell she was trying to hide her amusement. “He said to think of it as his apology.” 

Anya’s head swirled. This didn’t make any sense. “But... why is he leaving so soon then?”

The Dowager shrugged. “He didn’t seem to think you need him.”

“But I do! I told him! I told him I was pregnant, and I told him I wanted him—“

Wait. 

That night at the ballet. She never got the chance to tell Dmitry _he_ was the one she wanted. But wasn’t it obvious?

Her grandmother touched her shoulder. “You... you _did_ tell him he was the father, right?”

“Of course!”

“You told him, word for word, ‘You are the father.’”

“Yes, I—“ did she??

She told him she was pregnant on the balcony. But... they were interrupted by Vlad before they could finish their discussion. 

And later, when he’d asked her, _Is this really what you want?_ And she’d answered, _Yes. Yes, I’m sure,_ she hadn’t clarified that she was specifically talking about _him._ And the “bomb” wasn’t about her pregnancy— it was about the fact he thought she’d moved on from him.

They were both so _stupid._

If her grandmother— a Dowager— hadn’t been standing before her she probably would’ve screamed in frustration. 

Instead, she buried her face in her hands and mumbled, “I’m an _idiot_! That’s why he was so mad after the ballet! He thought I moved on from him fast enough to start a family with someone else!” But who on earth did he think she was sleeping with? 

Whatever. She had more pressing issues. “I have to find him and fix my mistake... I’m sorry.”

“Go! I’ll handle the press, my dear.”

Anya couldn’t help but feel guilty. “But what about you?”

“We will see each other again, I promise! Now _go_!”

She took one last look at her Nanna, the one she thought was the end of her journey to her past life. To the person she used to be. 

A lot has happened since then. Perhaps for the better, despite her hardships. 

Then she sprinted down the hall towards the back exit. 

***

It was late now, but unfortunately for Anya, the streets of Paris were always more awake at night. She had to barrel through crowds on the sidewalks in her massively wide red dress. 

People stared, probably wondering why on earth a girl with a tiara and a flaming dress and killer shoes in her hands was sprinting for her life, but she didn’t care. It may have been wise to stop and get a cab instead of running with her short legs and bare feet slapping on the cobblestone streets. But she was too busy mentally kicking herself for not being a little more _forward_ about her feelings. 

She not-so-gracefully skidded to a stop through the train station doors, clumsily bumping into travelers as they walked by. Standing at the top of the stairs, she prayed that she hadn’t missed him, scanning the unrecognizable faces. 

“There he is,” she whispered. She spotted him in line about to board a train headed east. In a crowd of thousands, she found him again. 

Anya sucked in a breath and darted into the fray. People were pretty shocked to find this tiny girl wearing a ball gown with a tiara on her head literally shoving them out of her way. She was finally within shouting distance from him, where he was nearly to the steps of the train, rid of the crisp tuxedo and back in his old, ragged street clothes, his hair back to its disheveled, boyish state. 

She’d never seen anything more beautiful. 

“Hey!” She shouted over the whistle of the train and chatter of the crowd. “Where do you think you’re going?”

Dmitry whipped around. His usual lazy, trouble-making grin was gone, replaced with a miserable frown, the cheerful light in his eyes dimmed. “What are you doing here.”

Her heart was pounding loud in her ears— not just from the sprint halfway across the entire city. She clenched her fists, drawing strength, and started, “Back at the ballet, when I told you I had what I wanted, I meant I thought I had _you._ ”

He narrowed his eyes. The conductor called for last minute passengers and Dmitry shuffled towards the steps, but she wasn’t giving up yet. She yanked his suitcase out of his hand and threw it on the ground. Ignoring his protests, she marched right on top of it for good measure— and to be at eye-level with him. Well, as close to eye-level as she could get. Why did he have to be so tall?

She continued before her random burst of courage dissipated. “I found my family, my past, and what I thought was supposed to be my future. I went from practically living in a dumpster alone to having all this... this _money_ to go to live shows and throw balls and buy all these dresses and jewelry. But after you left I realized...” she swallowed, trying to catch her breath and slow down a bit to make sense of what she was trying to say. “I realized none of that stuff mattered to me. You are the only thing I want. _You’re_ the one I want to raise a child with.” Her voice started to shake. Growing up, she’d heard countless stories of people confessing their love in these spectacular, romantic gestures, but no one ever mentioned fear. “But if... if you don’t feel the same, that’s okay. I’ll move on.” She glanced down to her stomach, a tear rolling down her cheek. “ _We’ll_ be okay.” It was the truth. Hard, yes, but true. 

His jaw clenched. “Anya,” he whispered softly. “I’m not worth giving up your _royal birthright!_ You should go back to your family that you’ve worked so hard to find.” His eyes dropped to the floor, shoulders sagging. “You deserve _so much more_ than I could possibly give you. Go back to Luka. He’s the one more capable of being the man you deserve than I am. He’s... he’s the one who should help you take care of his baby.”

Wait— he thought _Luka_ was the father? 

He stepped away, but she snatched his hand before he could slip away from her forever. “So _that’s_ what this whole mess is about? You thought I hooked up with _my old tutor_!?”

“It was obvious you had a thing for him!”

“Yeah, maybe back when I was twelve years old!”

“But you’ve been spending all this time with him—“

“As a distraction!”

He faltered. “So you... aren’t with him.”

“No!”

“But who’s the...” She gave him a pointed look. “... Oh.”

She let him soak that in. “... _Oh._ ” He rubbed his face, his temples, his eyes, dragging his fingers through his hair like she’d seen him do so many times before. “It was me.” He sighed and looked her right in the eye for the first time. “Anya, I’m sorry for getting mad the other night, if I wasn’t so stupid and understood it was me I wouldn’t have—“

She shook her head quickly, communicating that he was immediately forgiven, then tugged his vest and pulled him a bit closer. “When are you going to get it in your head that I’ve been in love with _you_ this whole time?”

He sucked in a breath. 

A lump formed in her throat. “It’s only ever been _you_ , Dima.”

His throat bobbed. Learning from the last time she was too stubborn to be honest about all of her feelings, she continued, her hands moving up to hold his face, voice dangerously unsteady, “Before you get the wrong idea, I don’t want to be with you because we’re having a baby together— I wasn’t forced into this decision, I want to be with you because I _love you._ I don’t need fancy ball gowns or palaces, I don’t need a man to help me raise a child, I just need _you._ ”

He sighed and touched his forehead to hers. “You have no idea how long I’ve been so... _hopelessly_ in love with you.” 

She smiled, relieved, and pressed her lips to his. 

Dmitry wrapped his arms around her waist. She sighed. _Finally_ , she thought, and moved her hands around his neck, trailed her fingers through his stupidly soft hair. 

The train whistled behind them and started slowly chugging away. Neither of them cared, Anya knew he wasn’t going anywhere. The busy Parisians stared at the interesting pair— a girl still wearing her Phoenix dress, bare-footed, and a boy wearing tattered rags, holding onto each other like they’d never let go. 

She thought about telling him what happened earlier. How Gleb had held a gun to her head. The image would haunt her for years, but the need to tell him wasn’t eating her alive like when she found out she was pregnant. In that moment, all she cared about was the boy in her arms, and nothing else mattered. She’d tell him later when the time came. 

After a few minutes, he beamed brighter than the sun and whispered, “We’re... going to have a baby.” 

Anya nodded, grinning, impossibly happy at the thought of impossibly small feet, of holding an impossibly small human as tightly as she could. At the thought of Dmitry being there to hold the two of them, too. She’d set off on this journey across Europe with a conman and ex-aristocrat to find home, love, and family. Found them, she did. 

“You’re going to make a remarkable father.”

He brushed a loose strand of hair from her face. “I guess I haven’t thought about that part yet.”

“There’s nothing to it,” she said, bumping his shoulder like he did back on the balcony. She moved his hand down to her stomach. “There’s going to be a bump soon.”

“We’d better start thinking of names then.” 

“Ooh, if it’s a girl, how about Olga, after my great Aunt?”

He laughed loudly, and it sounded like pure sunshine. She couldn’t wait to hear that for the rest of her life. “It’s a work in progress.”

Suddenly, he scooped her up and they were spinning, giggling and crying. He set her down almost as quickly as he picked her up and stuttered, “I’m— I’m sorry, are you alright? I didn’t— I should be more careful with you in your condition—“

“Dmitry.” Unable to resist, she kissed him on the cheek, needing to stand on her tip-toes now that she was back on the ground. “I’m fine.”

He blushed and picked up his suitcase with the hand that wasn’t intertwined with hers. He didn’t seem to notice her dirty footprints she’d left on it. 

The two (well, two and a half) of them moved towards the main doors. “What now?” Anya asked. “Should we go find a bigger apartment, or get someone at the church to marry us?”

“First,” He grinned at her amusedly. “Let’s get you an actual pair of shoes, and we’ll go from there.”


	2. Bonus: Before

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little prequel to the events that just transpired.
> 
> (Don't worry, it's sfw, they're just idiots who don't know how to deal with feelings. I'm high-key embarrassed for them).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow! it's been about a year since I posted this... so much has happened lol I actually saw the show the day before it closed and MET CHRISTY ALTOMARE!!!! IT'S FINE :)))) and even though I now know what actually goes down, I'm still proud of how this fic turned out.
> 
> anyway: I know y'all asked for a sequel (which is coming) but this has been brewing in my head for the past few weeks and I couldn't help myself. it's THE most self-indulgent thing my hands have ever created so you have been warned. I haven't written anything fan fiction-ish in a year (obviously) because I'm unoriginal and only have one (1) good idea la;dsfjksfj but please enjoy :)

Anya woke up to the soft sunlight filtering through the little window of her cabin. Waves crashed into the side of the boat, making the room creak and rock.

Someone was breathing steadily, still asleep. Her head was resting on his chest and he had his arm wrapped around her. He stirred. Not quite awake, she stretched and yawned, mumbling, “Good morning.”

“Good morning,” Dmitry replied groggily.

Wait.

Her eyes widened as she connected the dots. As she realized whose bare legs were tangled up in hers. Whose arms were wrapped protectively around her shoulders. And what that implied. 

Anya made a squeaky noise and Dmitry yelped as they flung themselves to opposite sides of the bed— difficult considering how small the bunk was in the first place. The radiating heat from her face was hot enough to boil water. 

_Ohmygodohmygodohmygod._

“What— why— what are you doing in my room?”

“What are you doing in _my_ room?”

“This is my—“ no it wasn’t. Yes it was. Anya’s head was throbbing.

“Do you think we…?”

He didn’t need to finish that sentence, and somehow her cheeks flushed even more. “I don’t know…” Why was her head pounding? “I don’t remember anything.”

Oh dear. Some of it was coming back to her. They’d been traveling by boat on this last leg of their journey to Paris, thankfully, as far as she knew, free from the Bolsheviks. Vlad insisted they continue her lessons about the Romanov lifestyle because they had to make sure she’d convince the Dowager she was the lost princess, so they practiced waltzing. At first it was frustrating. Dmitry was being, well, _Dmitry_ , but then something… changed… between them. Something she’d never felt before. She realized that by trusting him she may actually care for him and that was absolutely _not_ part of the plan. Anya, the expert she was at processing emotions, must have stumbled upon an open bar somewhere (judging by her headache and complete blackout, a _lot_ of alcohol was involved, apparently). All she remembered from last night was Dmitry clanking glasses with her. And his soft brown eyes, buzzing with intoxicating excitement. His stupid laugh. His face hovering over hers. His hands...

Oh god. 

She risked a glance at him. He was rubbing his temple, probably from his own hangover. “I think…” she hesitated, fiddling with a loose thread in the sheets, as if the both of them being undressed wasn’t confirmation enough, “we did.” 

Dmitry’s neck turned scarlet. She pulled the comforter over her face in embarrassment. Then, unable to avoid thinking about what unobstructed thing was under there, whipped the comforter back down over her chest and decided to bury her face in her hands instead. It wasn’t supposed to happen this way.

Dmitry cursed under his breath. “What do we do now?”

She just shook her head. 

The silence stretched uncomfortably, broken by the bed creaking. “Do you need anything?” 

Anya peaked at him through her fingers and her heart skipped a beat. He was sitting up, exposing his bare biceps and shoulders and _everything_ above his waist, and all comprehensible thoughts flew from Anya’s brain. His brows were furrowed, hair a beautiful mess, brown eyes making her feel impossibly safe and completely vulnerable at the same time. Dmitry was again being so selfless to the core that she wanted to cry. _You. I need you._ “A way for this stupid headache to go away.” Her throat was definitely dry from her hangover, not from whatever she was seeing.

He laughed nervously. “I can’t believe we _both_ have amnesia now.”

Despite the circumstances she smiled. She could tell he was just trying to make the whole situation less uncomfortable, which was endearing. Even though he knew exactly how to get under her skin and run her patience into the ground, she trusted him. Trust was a rare commodity in her life. Apparently, trust was something reserved for this boy and this boy alone. And that made her predicament so much worse. 

If this had been an ordinary trip, without princesses or treasonous actions, they wouldn’t have had this problem. They’d probably be able to start something without… interfering with bigger things.

No wonder she got black-out drunk last night.

“Anya,” he interrupted her thoughts, “I didn’t mean for this to happen, I promise I didn’t try to take advantage of you or anything—"

“No, you’d never!” She exclaimed. Of _course_ he was blaming himself. “We both had a little too much to drink. This is on me too.” She rested a comforting hand on his shoulder but the skin-to-skin contact sent a jolt through her arm and it was just too much. She crossed her arms instead, feeling vulnerable on _so many levels._

“How do we...” His adams apple bobbed. “Go from here?”

Anya sighed. They still had to face reality. “We’ll have to pretend this never happened.” Dmitry nodded, slowly, as she continued, “I mean, we’ll have to part ways eventually if everything works out.” It was more to herself than to him. A sad reminder.

A muscle in his jaw fluttered. “It shouldn’t be too hard, right? It’s not like we can remember what led up to it. And it’s not like we—“ he swung his legs onto the floor and started throwing on his clothes (was it the rocking of the boat, the hangover, or a certain set of back muscles that sent her head spiraling?) and continued, facing away from her, “It’s not like we have _feelings_ for each other.” He huffed a humorless laugh. 

_Yes that’s exactly what it’s like._ “Nope.” False. “This was just a mistake.” True? 

There was another long pause. Finally, Dmitry stood, grabbed his jacket from the floor, and stuttered, “I should, um, probably get back to my room. Before Vlad comes in…” 

“Okay.” He wasn’t meeting her eye; Anya didn’t blame him after this awkward morning. His stupid hair was still a mess and his shirt was only half-tucked in. Before he could open the door she said, “I’m sorry.” 

“For what?” 

__

_That it didn’t happen under better circumstances. That even though it did happen, she got so drunk she couldn’t even remember anything._ “That this is going to be a painfully awkward trip.” 

__

The corner of his mouth lifted. “As long as Vlad _never_ finds out, we’ll make it work.” 

__

“No problem.” _Liar_ , Anya thought to herself. _Big problem._

__

He gave her one last sad smile that made her already-queasy stomach stutter before shutting the door behind him. She groaned, burying herself in blankets. _Meet the royal mess._

__

She couldn’t decide if the fact that it _happened_ or the fact that she couldn’t remember a single detail was worse. Or if the real tragedy was the fact that she _wanted_ to remember the details. Yet, she found herself wondering if he was just as upset that he couldn’t remember, too. Was it really that bad? Did she smell? Did she confess anything embarrassing? 

__

More importantly, did she get to trail her fingers through his hair? Was it soft? Did she kiss his dimples? What was it like? Was he gentle, even in their drunken state? Did he— 

__

This was a disaster. 

__

She couldn’t remember her family or her past. The very _least_ her brain could’ve done was let her remember this one little thing, just once. 

__

Or perhaps it was better that she didn’t remember. It was already hard enough to look at him without her stomach fluttering as it was. Forgetting made it easier to deny how alive and safe she felt around him. 

__

She’d have to face him eventually. Getting dressed, Anya decided to pull herself together— get a grip and take a deep breath— and just suppress whatever confusing feelings that were running through her throbbing head. No more alcohol, for sure. No more Dmitry thoughts. How hard could it be? _Focus on what you’re looking for,_ Anya thought to herself. _Figure out who you are and find your family, you don’t have time for boy trouble._

__

Besides, the consequences couldn’t have been life-changing… right?

__

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come talk to me about these two idiots on Tumblr :)


End file.
